Formal Civility and Lethal Brutality
by Rebound SM
Summary: B plot sort of stuff - friendship and character development and inventing my own backstory. Takes place in my mind where I've made some history for Ichabod and Katrina, as well as a juicy old injury for poor Ichabod. No spoilers aside, I suppose, from the existence of the headless horseman and the Hessians, which by this point I think is kind of a given.
1. Chapter 1

B plot sort of stuff - friendship and character development and inventing my own backstory. Takes place in my mind where I've fanwanked some history for Ichabod and Katrina, as well as a juicy old injury for poor Ichabod. Please ignore any errors in battlefield medicine, past or present. Google gave me some random bits of revolutionary war era trivia that I tried to work in. Kathy is definitely breaking some HIPAA regulations, too, but lets just roll with that. No spoilers aside, I suppose, from the existence of the headless horseman, which by this point I think is kind of a given.

As the dust settled over their latest skirmish, Abbie had a moment to think. As usual, she and Crane were the only people who actually knew what it was they were fighting. The cops who had been called to the scene as backup thought it was some guy tweaked out on drugs. She was sure that they would come up with some logical explanation for all the not-quite-right stuff that happened during this definitely-not-normal shootout. The logical explanation that they came up with would be, of course, completely wrong, but it would certainly let them sleep better at night than knowing the truth would.

Rationalization was a powerful tool. One that she sometimes wished she still possessed. She wished the other officers good luck with theirs.

It seemed odd to Abbie that so many of the supernatural forces they were fighting seemed to enjoy using mortal weapons. It had been strange to see the horseman wielding a semi-automatic weapon, and it had been just as strange to see this latest ghoul firing a handgun. Luckily, this guy seemed to actually be harmed by bullets, as well, which was incredibly convenient. He also disappeared into a burst of flames when the amulet around his neck was struck by Abbie's bullet, which certainly made crime scene clean up a little bit easier but didn't help with the explanations.

After discussing some of the facts - those that made enough sense to share - with the other officers at the scene, she turned to look for Ichabod. Usually he hung around, making every stupid excuse she made seem even dumber by his presence. Everyone there knew that he had originally claimed to have been asleep for 250 years and accused of Corbin's murder. They also knew his new cover story, but Abbie couldn't think how that would actually improve anything. Having a 250 year old guy as her partner didn't actually make any less sense than having a British professor of history. But whatever - that wasn't her problem.

She didn't see Ichabod where she had remembered him being last - crouched behind an SUV and using it as cover while he held an empty gun. Once he had learned that guns held more than one bullet, he relished emptying an entire clip with great speed. Sometimes that worked out fine, but sometimes he ended up hiding behind a car without any bullets left. After witnessing his second experience with modern weaponry she began to encourage him to use cover, insisting that the improved ability to aim modern guns made is revolutionary war shooting stance obsolete and somewhat hazardous.

He suddenly appeared from around the corner of the nearest building adjusting his jacket awkwardly with one hand. As he approached her, she noticed his face was a bit more ashen than usual. The grey pallor and the expression on his face made her suspect that something was wrong.

"Crane, what's up?"

It was a common phrase and Ichabod had picked up its meaning quickly. "Nothing, lieutenant. Simply assessing the situation."

Abbie furrowed her brow. His language was often overly formal which occasionally gave the impression that he was not being direct, but this response had seemed particularly evasive. Abbie had the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her. She noticed that instead of his usual stance - standing tall with his hands behind his back - he was now tilting off slightly to his left with his left wrist cradled in his right hand. Leaning forward, Abbie looked at him more closely. As she leaned in, he leaned as far away as he could without actually taking a step away from her.

Scanning him up and down she finally noticed what looked like blood trickling down his left hand. He eyes traveled up his sleeve.

"Crane, is that a bullet hole? Were you shot?"

"It's merely a flesh wound, lieutenant. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you kidding me with this, Crane? You've been shot! This is something that needs to be dealt with. Take off your jacket."

With great reluctance and obvious discomfort Ichabod managed to awkwardly peel off his coat. The dark fabric had been hiding what now appeared to Abbie to be quite a lot of blood. It looked like Ichabod had tried to staunch the flow by wrapping his handkerchief around his arm, but being unable to tie it in place with only one hand, it wasn't doing much except making him look even bloodier than his dark shirt would have. That must have been why he was skulking around in the alley.

"Look, Crane, there's a medic right over there. Lets go have her take a look at it and decide if you need to go to the hospital." The ambulance had been dispatched, as per usual, to the scene of the shootout. However, definitely not "as per usual" there was no body remaining after *this* shootout, so the vehicle was simply parked there - sirens off but lights on - waiting to be called somewhere else for some other purpose.

Hearing the word "hospital" made Ichabod go positively green and the level of apprehension showing in his face surprised Abbie. What was his problem? Didn't they have hospitals 250 years ago?

He persevered a bit - insisting that he could deal with this wound by himself if she would simply leave him be - but Abbie ignored him and grabbed him by his good arm and began physically dragging him toward the ambulance parked down at the end of the street. Ichabod fell silent until they were nearly half way there. Then he began to pull back again.

"Lieutenant, can I ask you…" He trailed off. "Miss Mills, please…"

"What, Crane!" She said sharply. Seriously, what was this guy's problem? Why was he being such a baby about this? Abbie had had a really long day, an even longer night, and now that they had managed to kill another monster, she just wanted to go back home, take a shower, and go to bed. But she couldn't exactly leave her partner standing in the street bleeding. So she was willing to get this taken care of, but she really didn't want it to take any longer than absolutely necessary.

He finally said quietly, "please don't let them amputate."


	2. Chapter 2

He finally said quietly, "please don't let them amputate."

Shit. Now she felt like a real jerk.

Sometimes she forgot just how much Ichabod didn't know about the modern world. He acclimated to so many things so well and he didn't ever draw attention to the things that he didn't understand unless absolutely necessary. It was easy for her to forget sometimes how completely in the dark he was about so much. How could she expect him to know about the advanced in modern medicine? It's not like germ theory and clinical trials came up much in their research about covens and demons and hell.

As soon as she gave it a moment's thought she realized how valid his apprehension was to him. Getting shot - though certainly no picnic these days and still quite potentially deadly - is nothing like what it must have been like. She wondered how many men he had known who died from things that would be easily mended in this day and age. How many men had undergone battlefield amputations simply for want of sanitation, sterility, and some simple antibiotics.

Abbie's voice instantly softened. "Crane, don't worry about that. We don't really do that anymore these days. Lets just go in there and see what the medic says, okay? I promise you that you won't need anything amputated." He nodded but the barely controlled dread didn't leave his face.

They approached the ambulance and Abbie was happy to see that she knew the medic on duty. "Karen, can you take a look at this for me? Looks like our Mr. Crane might have a little bit of an injury here. Seems to have gotten winged."

Karen smiled up at Ichabod. He was a good looking fellow, but he looked terrified. Karen understood and sympathized. She knew a lot of people who hated the treatment for whatever they had more than the injury itself, and he looked like he might be one of those people. She thought as she often did, "well, at least I'm not a dentist!"

She wasn't sure what to make about his clothes. To each his own, she supposed. She had to admit that the look kind of worked for him.

"Can we get you out of this shirt, Mr. Crane?" After a glance at Abbie that Abbie thought said something along the lines of, "What? In the presence of ladies?" Ichabod clearly determined that this was the least of his problems and silently he struggled to remove the bloodstained shirt. Kathy offered to cut it off, but Ichabod shook his head no and managed to draw his shirt up over his head. Abbie turned her eyes away from the blood oozing from his arm. There did seem to be a lot of it.

Karen, unfazed by the blood and a consummate professional, carefully examined the wound. "It looks like a through and through. Clean wound." She carefully manipulated Ichabod's upper arm. He flinched only slightly, his jaw set. "There doesn't seem to be any involvement with the bones, ligaments, or tendons. Looks like you were lucky and the bullet passed cleanly through the flesh of your arm." She looked at Ichabod. "What's your pain level? Can you still move your arm?"

Through his clenched jaw, Ichabod answered. "My pain level is tolerable. I am capable of moving my arm. I would quite like to go home and manage this myself."

Karen smiled a bit and turned to Abbie. "Abbie, he's going to need stitches and antibiotics and for that wound to be flushed. I can do that here, but he's going to be more comfortable if he goes to the hospital." At the mere mention of the word hospital, Ichabod stiffened and drew himself up even taller. He had already been standing ramrod straight and Abbie was amazed that there was another level of stiffness that he could attain with his posture.

"I think Mr. Crane would be happier if we could just get this taken care of here, if that's okay with you."

"No problem - just give me a minute and we'll patch you right up." Karen had noticed the significant scar across Ichabod's chest and wondered if that was the reason he disliked medical treatments. The treatment for whatever trauma that injury had been caused by could not have been pleasant. It wasn't in the right location for open heart surgery, so she thought it must have been some sort of accident. He certainly didn't look like a lumberjack, but that sure did look like he had been swiped with an axe.

"Do you have any latex allergies or allergies to penicillin or eggs?"

Ichabod looked lost. "I quite enjoy eggs," was all he said. "No known allergies," said Abbie, hoping that it was the truth. Could you be allergic to things that didn't exist when you were alive? For the love of god she hoped not. She supposed that they would just have to roll the dice on this one. Fate would just be too cruel to have Ichabod survive the headless horseman only to die from a latex glove.

Karen glanced back and forth between the two of them with one raised eyebrow and then turned back toward the ambulance. "Abbie, you know this isn't really kosher, right? I really should be taking notes and getting all sorts of patient data..."

"I sure would appreciate if if you could just keep this off the books, Karen. but I don't want you to get into any trouble."


	3. Chapter 3

"I sure would appreciate if if you could just keep this off the books, Karen. but I don't want you to get into any trouble."

Karen paused, thinking this through. A few silent moments later, she ushered Ichabod and Abbie into the ambulance. She trusted Lieutenant Mills and she really did want to help this guy. He looked so damn miserable she could hardly stand it. She pushed her apprehensions away and decided to do what she could off the books.

As they entered the ambulance, Ichabod noticed the instruments on the cabinet and turned to Abbie, speaking very softly.

"Miss Mills, I understand very little of this so if I might impose on you, I would appreciate it if I could rely on your judgement in this procedure. I will not question anything if you do not deem it to be inappropriate. If that is acceptable."

"Yeah, Ichabod. I'll make sure everything is okay."

Karen helped Ichabod lie back on a partially reclined gurney. She covered his upper body in two blankets and draped the area under where she would be working with clean blue cloths, placing a few rolled up towels under his wrist to support his arm while she worked on it. She began to prepare to give Ichabod some local anesthetic. With a worried glance, Ichabod turned to Abbie and whispered, "Will she not even give me whisky? Last time I got whisky."

Last time? Abbie would have to remember to ask about that later.

"Don't worry. We have something much better than whisky now. She's going to use medication to numb your arm so you won't feel a thing."

And indeed that's what she did. Ichabod saw her approach him with something terrifying and sharp - the fact that he could remember being approached with a similar instrument his last night in the Asylum didn't help matters - but trusting that Abbie wasn't concerned with the events, he merely turned his head and closed his eyes for the rest of the procedure. He felt a number of sharp pricks in his arm but flinched only slightly. After a few moments he did notice that he couldn't feel his arm any more, and when Karen, presumably touching his arm, asked if he could feel anything, he could honestly say no. Well, all he actually did was shake his head, but it was a truthful head shake.

Karen worked quickly and competently. She disinfected the area around the wound, then flushed it with sterile water and an antibiotic solution to assure that there was nothing in the wound that would cause trouble or lead to infection later. She stitched the entrance and exit wounds being careful to make the stitches small and neat. The poor guy had a massive scar decorating the entire center of his chest - it was the least she could do to minimize the number of other scars he had on his body. She covered the clean wound with steri-strips and dressed his arm, bandaging everything together and neatly and quickly as she could. She turned to her drawers and brought out a sling, a bottle of antibiotics, and a plastic bag stuffed with supplies for rebandaging his arm.

"Abbie, I'm only supposed to give him a few and then have him go to his doctor for a prescription, but why don't you just take the bottle. I have a bunch of samples from this manufacturer to make up the difference, and that way he doesn't have to go see anyone, Just promise me that if it looks like it's getting infected you'll make sure he goes in to the hospital, okay? Otherwise I won't be able to sleep at night worrying that I've made the wrong decision skirting regulations like this.

"I also gave him some pretty potent painkillers, and you can follow that up with two extra strength Tylenol every six hours as necessary. Here's what you'll need to change the bandage. Try to keep it dry and change the bandage once a day for five or six days if it looks like it's healing well. I put some sterile scissors in there for you. If he really wants to avoid the doctor, you're going to have to take out those stitches in about 10 days." Karen looked a little apprehensive about sending them away without plans to follow up.

Abbie reassured Karen that she would personally be in charge of Ichabod and his arm. She would re-bandage the wound, keep an eye out for infection, and make sure Ichabod took the antibiotics on the schedule that Karen described. Karen again stressed the importance of taking the entire course of antibiotics, and that made Abbie smile a little bit.

Little did Karen know that these were the first antibiotics to enter Crane's system in his entire life. She wasn't worried about Crane developing any super resilient antibiotic-resistant strains. In fact, she was thinking that hitting this guy with some modern antibiotics would possibly destroy some impressively antique strains of whatever was floating around in there. Those bugs were about to be destroyed by some 21st century medicine. She was probably destroying something that some viral researcher somewhere would kill for - an unsullied 250 year old immune system.

This, also, was not her problem.

Ichabod was silent this entire time. He was silent when they helped him into the sling, and silent when they helped put his coat over his shoulders. He managed a polite tip of his head and a charming "Thank you, Miss Karen, for your ministrations. You are a credit to your profession and I very much appreciate your kind words and gentle hands. I thank you." That old fashioned charm was always a hit with the ladies, and Karen was no different.

"It was my real pleasure, Mr. Crane." Karen smiled and blushed a little bit. Abbie could swear that she almost curtsied.


	4. Chapter 4

"It was my real pleasure, Mr. Crane." Karen smiled and blushed a little bit. Abbie could swear that she almost curtsied.

A few minutes later, and after Ichabod insisted on getting his good arm through the sleeve of his coat and buttoning it up, he was loaded into the passenger side of her car and Abbie had helped him buckle his seatbelt. Whatever medication he had been given seemed to be working well. Ichabod denied being in any pain, but he was also acting pretty oddly. And odd for Ichabod was pretty odd. He couldn't stop talking - and he was using some seriously bizarre phrases. She heard him mutter something about idioms and then he finally stopped talking.

But what followed his silence was even more unsettling, because then he just turned a little in his seat and began to stare at her. What on earth had Karen given him, and how long would it last?

Hoping that directing his thoughts would both keep him from rambling and keep him from staring at her, Abbie tried to get him started talking about something.

"Crane, you said that you had been shot before? Why don't you tell me about that?"

"It is not a very pleasing story, Miss Mills. Are you sure you'd like to hear the gory details?"

"By all means, gory-away."

Ichabod turned in his seat and began fidgeting by turning a soda bottle cap around and around in his right hand. His long fingers remained in motion, but he started talking and stopped staring.

"It was still early in my career as a soldier. I had only recently defected to the Continental Army. We were in a skirmish with the British forces and we we actually doing quite well. The American rifles had picked off many of the officers - this was before they knew to remove their gold trappings of rank before going into battle - and our musket forces on the ground had put quite a dent in their lines."

His tone changed a little, he suddenly sounded proud.

"Did you know, lieutenant, that I could fire my musket four times in a minute? Most officers were quite pleased if their troops could reload twice in a minute, but I was able to reload thrice. I was quite adept at things back then. Quite competent, indeed."

He trailed off for a moment, then regathered his thoughts and continued his story.

"We were all practically finished with the muskets and most men were beginning to use their bayonets. The melee that finished so many battles was just beginning. I was preparing to charge when I felt the most spectacular pain in my side. I tried to continue but ended up falling unconscious next to a tree on the outskirts of the battle. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the medical tent. In hindsight I very much wish that I had remained unconscious.

"I hope very much, Miss Mills, that you never have to see anything like that tent. Not because you are a woman, of course, as there were many civilian nurses who worked wonders in those tents, but because it is a horrible experience and no human should have to see it first hand.

"I was given a half a cup of whisky and a bullet to bite on and the medics began to dig the bullet out of my side. The pain was… Excruciating… I prayed every moment that I would be granted unconsciousness or death but it never came. I couldn't tell where my screams ended and the screams of the other men began."

A longer pause now. The giddy effects of the narcotics were overtaken by the glum tone of the story.

"It was a blessing and a curse, being shot in the body. There was no risk of amputation - there was merely life or death. And I lived.

"Many in that tent were not so lucky as I, if you can call it luck. There was very little food and if one were not careful, ones provisions would be stolen by the other patients. Once I was recognized as an officer my situation improved slightly, and it was when Katrina started to tend to me that I began to recover more quickly. Which upon deeper reflection might not have been merely a coincidence."

He fell silent again and when Abbie looked over to him he appeared to have fallen asleep. She let out a breath that she didn't realize she had been holding in. No wonder he had been terrified of the thought of going to a hospital. Apparently back in 1776 a hospital was where you went to die, not where you went to recover. And the thought of having to guard your own food during this all?

Abbie vowed to do a little more research about life in Ichabod's era. He only seemed to discuss those things he found important relating to ridiculously arcane manners or to their cases and he seemed to be glossing over the more unpleasant details about life 250 years ago. He focused on the formal civility and chose not to mention the lethal brutality.

It was only a few minutes later when Abbie pulled into the parking lot of the motel. Looking over at Ichabod, his face relaxed with sleep and painkillers, she wondered what she was going to do now. She couldn't just leave him here, could she? She know that she couldn't, but either way she was going to have to start by getting him out of this car and into his room. With a sigh, she began what she was sure would be a vast undertaking.


	5. Chapter 5

With a sigh, she began what she was sure would be a vast undertaking.

She was able to rouse Ichabod enough to unload him from the car. With unintelligible mumblings, half shut eyes, and by getting him to lean heavily on Abbie's slight shoulders she managed to wrangle Ichabod up and into his room. She nearly laughed at the absurdity as she staggered under the weight of his tall frame. His old fashioned chivalry would have never allowed him to lean on her like this if he had been conscious of his actions.

Abbie was able to get him into the room and laid out on the bed, then she assessed the situation again. He was still wearing his coat, buttoned up to his chin, over his sling. The thought of walking around bare chested had appalled him. But now Abbie unbuttoned it and with great difficulty and care for his arm was able to work it out from underneath him. She also managed to pull his boots off revealing 250 year old socks that were in serious need of repairs. Glancing at the front of of his pants Abbie was happy that she had no intention of trying to undress him any further. Those things had like 12 buttons and none of them were in any places that made any sense to her. She mentally wished him luck when he tried to go to the bathroom tomorrow - he was on his own!

As she covered him in a blanket she was closer to his bare torso that she had ever been before. He looked borderline scrawny when fully dressed but she saw now that he was really just a lean whip of muscle and sinew. She supposed that marching 20 miles a day without enough food would do that to a person. Considering the lack of nutrition back in those days it was a wonder that he was as tall as he was. She should bring him more doughnut holes.

The scar from the horsemans axe was definitely the most glaring of the many scars scattered across his chest, but now she noticed more. She saw an ugly knot low on his right side and realized that it was from the wound he had just described. He had a number of what looked like shallow knife wounds - one of which looked fairly recent.

She suspected that he had received in the church while they were fighting the Hessians over the Lesser Key of Solomon and she realized that Ichabod had neglected to tell her and had tried to deal with it by himself. She made a mental note to have a serious discussion with him about not hiding things from one's partner.

Abbie smiled a bit as she lifted Ichabod's head, heavy in sleep, to place a pillow beneath it. Yes, she would have to have a sit-down with him as soon as possible. His insane level of chivalry and self-sacrifice was going to get him killed. And - honestly - at this point Abbie didn't have any idea what she would do without him on this crazy journey.

She sat on the bed next to his and slowly removed her that Ichabod was settled, the exhaustion that she had been fighting off had settled on her heavily. She took off her outer shirt but decided to sleep in her tank top and jeans. He was going to be flustered enough when he woke up tomorrow to find her in his room. If he saw her pants on the bed he might just die of chagrin.

Abbie worked her way under the covers and was asleep practically the moment that her head hit the pillow. The day and night had taken a lot out of them both and - together - they slept soundly and dreamlessly for the first time in a long time.


End file.
